


a boy who likes boys

by combeferres



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Period-Typical Homophobia, but only mild because i can't write angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combeferres/pseuds/combeferres
Summary: Will makes a long-awaited confession.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	a boy who likes boys

_"a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless_ _he keeps his mouth shut (which is what you_ _didn't do)"_

_\- Richard Siken_

_June, 1917._

Will’s fingers ghosted over his sister’s graceful words. He hadn’t gotten a letter in ages, so he soaked up every line by reading it multiple times. Tom sat next to him, the pair of them slumped against a large tree away from the buzz of the camp. He hadn’t gotten any mail, and was clearly getting uncomfortable in their silence, so he looked for a topic of conversation.

“You reckon there’s things you’ll miss when we get back?” Tom asked. _Back home_ , he probably meant to say. Tom always threaded carefully around that word when he was talking to Will.

Will looked up from his letter, but stayed silent. Not because he didn’t know, but because he did. Though it had annoyed him at first, Tom’s continuous presence had crept into his life until it had become the most natural thing in the world. Before Tom, Will had kept to himself. It was easier burying strangers. But then Lance Corporal Blake had come bursting his bubble with his ridiculous stories and not-quite-war-hardened face. Will hadn’t even realized just how attached he’d gotten to the younger boy until that hellish day in April, when he’d almost lost him on their mission.

Will broke his train of thought and replied, “Yes.” He didn’t want to lie. He also didn’t want Tom to question it any further. “But there are definitely more things I won’t.”

Tom smiled at that. “Yeah. Definitely won’t miss the rats. Or the food.” He paused. “I think I’ll miss you though.” That was the thing about Tom, he always put his emotions on full display as if it were his right. Tom probably didn’t realize how much he was hurting him every time he spoke like this, or every time his soft eyes looked at him as if he had singlehandedly won Britain the war. Will couldn’t afford to let his feelings spill over like that. He’d be a dead man if he did.

“You could always write me,” Will said.

“It won’t be the same.”

“Then don’t.” He hadn’t realized the harshness of his reply until he turned to see Tom’s hurt face.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, and Will hated the way his pained expression melted into a worried one in a matter of seconds. Will hated the way Tom cared, he hated the way his leg softly grazed against his own, he hated the way he asked him _what was wrong_ in the middle of a war. But mostly, he hated the way he couldn’t really bring himself to hate any part of Tom.

“I can’t tell you.” It was the truth, and Will hoped Tom would leave it at that. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t.

“You can tell me anything.”

Will watched Tom’s sad smile, and returned it. They sat shoulder to shoulder against the tree, and when they looked at each other, the other boy’s face was unbearably close. He didn’t know if it was the brightness in his eyes or the curl of his plump lips, but something finally broke in him. He needed to tell him. It would be easier that way. Will knew his friend was too good-natured to report him to their superiors. No, they owed each other their lives, so Tom would never willingly sign his death penalty. He would simply block him out of his life, leaving Will back where he started: alone. It would be easier than having Tom by his side all day, like a constant reminder of what he couldn’t have. He swallowed, and said, “If I tell you, I need to you to promise me you’ll keep it to yourself.”

“I promise.”

There was no way back now. He wanted to throw up or cry or both, but there was no way back now, so instead he just spoke, “Do you remember when you asked me if I’d ever been with someone back home, and I said yes?” Will exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t with a woman. It was with a man.”

“Oh,” was all Tom said. His eyes were unreadable, which was a rare sight and Will couldn’t bear it, so he turned to stare at his own hands instead.

“I understand if you don’t really want to be around me anymore. Just please don’t tell anyone why.”

“It doesn’t matter that much to me, Will.”

“It doesn’t?” When Will looked back at his friend, he saw that the other boy was now taking his turn in staring at his hands, a childlike frown framing his face, revealing that it clearly did matter.

“What do you want me to say?” Tom snapped. “Congrats on having someone back home, someone who clearly cares considering all the letters?”

“What do you—there’s no one back home.”

The other boy finally looked back up at him. A sigh escaped from his lips, and if Will didn’t know any better, he would think it was a sign of relief. Tom seemed lost in his thoughts for a few beats, until he spoke again. “But the letter?”

“My sister.”

“Oh.” His gaze flickered to Will’s lips so briefly that Will almost didn’t catch it. “I thought you were teasing me.” He flashed him a ghost of a smile. “I thought you noticed the way I look at you, and wanted to make me stop.”

“I didn’t notice,” Will said. As he studied Tom’s face, he noticed it now.

“I wish you had.” Tom’s hand fell on his own, thumb ghosting over the back of his hand.

“Me too.”

That was all Tom needed to press his lips to Will’s. It was a careful touch at first, guided by uncertainty. Will froze for a second, because even the careful graze of Tom’s lips was overwhelming. When he felt Tom pulling back, he cupped his face, desperate to return the kiss. Everything about the boy was soft: the curve of his cheeks, his lips and the sigh that escaped from them when Will deepened the kiss. Every inch of doubt was washed away by the feeling of Tom. It was too much and not enough. The warmth of his mouth was dizzying, so he steadied his hands by tangling them into Tom’s brown curls. A small tug at them, and he all but whined. Will chuckled, breaking away in favour of pressing small pecks to the corners of Tom’s mouth, in an attempt to calm the heat that was rising in his belly.

Through a kiss and a smile, Tom said, “Imagine how much sooner we could’ve had this if you weren’t a blind bloody idiot.”

“How much sooner? I don’t know, you tell me,” Will said. He straightened himself while softly squeezing the hand that was now intertwined with his own.

“Third day-ish, probably.”

“I’m not too sure about that, I couldn’t really stand you at first.”

Blake’s laughter was warm, and it made that now-familiar heat creep up to his cheeks again. “And now you couldn’t miss me, could ya?”

Will replied by pressing his lips to Tom’s cheek. Tom settled his head into the crook of Will’s neck, and they watched the setting sun painting the French fields orange. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt at ease like this. He was still a man with a dangerous secret. He was still stuck in an endless war. But he had Blake by his side, and in this moment, it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm new here but i love these two so i thought i'd give it a shot!


End file.
